


Side Ponytail Relationship Success Squad

by yoolee



Category: SLBP - Fandom, Samurai Love Ballad: PARTY
Genre: F/M, the ship no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 04:40:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13310754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoolee/pseuds/yoolee
Summary: Kiyohiro can't help but notice he seems to see the same face--and a similar story--everywhere his ninja journeys take him.





	1. Saizo

**Author's Note:**

> This was a gift for regretful-otome as part of the 2017 tumblr holiday SLBP gift exchange!

Officially, Kiyohiro oughtn’t approve.

Emotional attachments are liabilities in the shared business of Iga villagers, and he has seen their cost paid enough times to understand why they are considered so; it’s much easier to clean blood off your blade that never belonged to someone once held dear.

But nonetheless, there’s something nice about seeing them form, and blossom.

The softness in the Lord Assassin’s smile looks like it belongs there. Like its shape has settled and sealed some shattered foundation and strengthened it.

Put more simply—Saizo looks happy.

As for Kiyohiro himself, who is not overly prone to strong emotions one way or another, he finds that watching sunlight creep into a soul sworn to shadows makes him happy as well. He keeps this to himself—but he does his best to protect it. He delivers gifts from Oyuki (though often while wondering if doing so is protection or problem-causing), redirects the wayward Hotaru, puts forth his own blade to distract the mad Hojo ninja intent on Saizo’s attention, such that his odd ardour won’t disrupt few stolen moments of alone time the Lord Assassin takes with his little lady. It is an offering of admiration if not precisely friendship. He supposes that suits best. He is neither guardian, nor protector. He is not even quite shadow, for if he were, he would not interfere. He is an ally of sorts. An admirer.

He notices (because it is his job to notice things) the pretty maid in pink lingering in the hallway. Ostensibly, she is scrubbing the floors, but to his trained eye they are already sparkling and so the activity is suspect. From his place tucked in the dim, Kiyohiro grips his weapon, and waits, weary of another interruption to thwart, but her purpose becomes clear as soon as the younger Sanada lord approaches. She flings her arms around Yukimura’s to prevent his entry into the closed room, and he stops short, free arm frozen from where it would knock.

The little lord, as Saizo calls him, predictably, sputters, and stammers, a shocked caricature of himself in scarlet from head to toes. The pretty maid shushes him and shoos him away from his course with a sweet smile and smooth words. His mission forgotten, the samurai returns from whence he came, face still burning in a blush and inarticulate mumbles stuttering under his breath. The maid watches him go, and Kiyohiro watches her. Her fingers are steepled, her hair pulled to the side, and her cheeks are bright with her pleasure. She gives a wordless thumbs up to the closed door. Kiyohiro does not detect a smile has taken up residence on his own lips in silent accord.

The couple has another ally, it would seem.

(He makes a note to learn her name.)


	2. Shingen

He does learn her name.

He also learns that she  _meddles_.

He can only suppose that’s what she’s up to now, as she lies in wait in the garden, visible to him from his perch on the roof where he waits for Saizo’s return. He  _knows_  she is waiting, because he’s seen her and the woman in blue with her take the wash down before, and this particular instance seems to be requiring twice the usual amount of time. That, and she keeps checking less than subtly over her shoulder with impatience in her lips. Kiyohiro raises an eyebrow at Kansuke, who has silently joined him, unnoticed by the pair of maids working on their tasks below. The other ninja’s expression remains blank, focused but unconcerned. He gives a faint shake of his head; the reason for their apparent languor is unknown to him as well.

They need not talk, but Kiyohiro supposes once more that it is a sort of kinship, in that at least they are not  _fighting_ , as so often their kind must when encountering one another. He lets himself relax, but notes Kansuke does not. The other man is not tense, but he  _is_ still as he always is, watching and waiting as the maid does. Kiyohiro thinks again of sunlight and reflects that perhaps Kansuke’s is a different sort than that which Saizo has found.

He’s amused for a moment, that they are all waiting. He, for Saizo, Kansuke, for his lord, and the maid—for what?

But it becomes clear when Shingen strolls down the halls, laugh hearty and full, and Umeko calls for him sweetly. Kansuke, who was at Kiyohiro’s side one second, is  _not_ the next. His absence is as whisperingly unremarkable as his arrival, and Kiyohiro knows better than to look for where he has gone. Instead he watches, as Shingen obligingly approaches, and Umeko artfully—or perhaps, artlessly, trips on her sandal, careening into her blue-clad partner, who is then flung forward towards and into her lord…

Kiyohiro supposes he should sigh, but there are advantages to being an unseen observer and so he smiles instead, a faint press upwards of his lips. In any case, Shingen not only has an armful of blue-dressed and blushing maid with stars in her eyes, he has Kansuke, and that makes such meddling not Kiyohiro’s concern.

He spares a glance for the unrepentant Umeko, regarding the Tiger of Kai and her friend with as focused and bright a gaze as a child receiving a treasure.

He shakes his head and hears the crows calling. When he turns to seek them, and so the one who has called him here in the first place, he catches a stretch of sunlight creeping up clasped arms in red and blue, and smiles.


	3. Nobunaga

Because he learned it, when he hears  _Umeko_ in Owari, he pays more attention than he might have otherwise. From his position behind the gold-robed Lord Ieyasu, he watches, and there is no one to watch him and so detect the flash of a concerned crease that appears between his brows.

Sure enough. There she is, expression sheepish but no less bright, far from the lands of Kai, and in the service of the Demon King.

He does not serve Nobunaga, so he does not offer up his knowledge.

But he watches.

She is still there, still in pink, still with her hair to the side and her thoughts clear on her face. He notes other changes with her arrival, most notably in the lord she serves, whose eyes follow what appears to be a lad, but to Kiyohiro’s observant skill is clearly a woman. His business is secrets, and the risks they may carry. So he watches, as the would-be lad slips into the kitchens, and emerges with a jar of sugar candies, Umeko at her side, urging and encouraging some romantic purpose.

He hears her confess in the sheepish, girlish whisper of confidences shared between friends and not meant for eavesdropping shadows, that she was dismissed for not getting her work done. Since she is, at the particular moment Kiyohiro is observing, making the tea too hot and too full such that when it inevitably spills its victim will need nursing, he is not  _terribly_ surprised to learn this.

He, who is wired to  _work_ and work well, cannot quite reconcile her methods. But perhaps because there is something about the mighty being nudged by the modest, or simply because he appreciates her for pursuing what he will not, and the fact no word of what she knows from her prior service spills from her lips to endanger those he admires, when the sunlight reflects off of the tray of too-hot tea pressed into the not-a-lad’s hands, he smiles.


	4. Ieyasu (& his ninja)

The way to a samurai’s heart is, apparently, through his stomach. Kiyohiro files that away with quiet consideration as he watches Ieyasu—like Saizo and Nobunaga before him—fall in love with the daughter of a cook. For his own reference, he makes a note of the chef’s home town. He wonders if perhaps there is some new ninja clan forming in Kyoto, one that focuses on foods instead of more immediate seductions, but try as he might, can find no wile in the lady’s affections for the caustic lord they both serve.

But then, if she is a  _very good_ ninja, he wouldn’t, would he?

Worried, he holds himself quiet in the dark, and crafts a message in his thoughts to be later delivered to Oyuki, who would know such things and hear him out. The silver-haired kunoichi of Iga may seem flighty and unfocused, but even in his mind he gives her name the respect she has earned. After all, she always comes home, her missions complete and her skin unkissed by wounds. Her wiles are perhaps more… exuberant than others in the village, but Kiyohiro can appreciate the  _effectiveness_ of her methodology. Surely she knows of stomachs, and as this now involves  _his_ employer, it will not do to be caught unawares.

Having decided on a next action, he feels something like relief, until he notes that here in Ieyasu’s castle, just past the quiet space near his Lord Ieyasu’s rooms where he holds himself in silence, there is a maid in pink scrubbing the floors. She looks familiar. As he is wondering just where from, footsteps and squabbling echo down the corridor.

“But Lord Ieyasu—”

“Just be quiet and come along, kitchen wench!”

Kiyohiro winces, but the maid’s head shoots up with a delighted grin, and she overturns her bucket of water, grabs her rag and the the now emptyied vessel and scampers with great haste out of sight.

He knows her name, and in surprise, it flows from him in a whisper, and she turns, shrieking at his (what to her must seem) sudden appearance, but he grips her arm as gently as he is able in his frustration, and pulls her into his shadows.

What is she planning? What has she  _done_?

“Your lord could have gotten hurt.” His voice is calm—it always is—but even he can hear the firm disapproval in its tone. The maid’s quick, darting glance to the side and muffled twist of her lips tells him she doesn’t really see that as a problem (her defiance baffles him, he who serves without question and eyes downcast).

“We _eee_ ll,” she hedges, drawing out the vowel in the way of someone who doesn’t know where they’re going next. Surprised at himself, he feels his fingers tighten on her shoulders, and her pretty, dark eyes fly back to his. (He doesn’t notice how happy he is for that, but later, when he settles onto the rooftop to guard his liege’s door for the night, the stars remind him of that startled, brightly defiant stare). His voice is soft, but does not waver. “Or the cook,” He does not know her name, they all seem the same to him, so long as they are not a threat, “I believe you did not consider that?”  _That_ gets guilt, which flashes briefly before settling back into determination, and her chin juts up even as a slim finger bangs into his chest, poking just to the side of his heart, not far off.

In an insistent whisper, she hisses, “They won’t get  _hurt,_ they _—_ ”

“­YAAACK!”

_ Splat _ .

Though he’s done nothing wrong—except, perhaps, fail to warn his employer of a threat—Kiyohiro tenses, and Umeko  _eeps_ in his arms, but wastes no time leaning her head back. The ninja is  _less_ eager to look, but she turns back to him, full smile coquettish and radiant with triumph. She giggles, and the finger that had been so willing to poke him now beckons. Uneasy, Kiyohiro obliges, peering for himself around the corner.

Because he knows what has happened—and who is to blame—Kiyohiro does not misunderstand the scene before him, but it would be easy to do. The little cook hovers inches from the ground, disheveled and wide-eyed, locked in her lord’s arms. Her alarmed hands have tangled in his golden robes, his are wrapped around her waist and up her back, their grip white and tight in the fabric, a picture of passion and shock and…

Kiyohiro has no desire to deal with having been caught witnessing such a scene and hurriedly pulls Umeko away and out of sight. The hallway only leads to their lord’s room, so deciding on the most expedient option to get them out of there, he scoops her up and darts  _up_ instead and  _out_ through the rafters.

Her gasp of shock is ignored, as are her arms, flung quick and tight around his shoulders. In the courtyard he sets her down and finds himself relieved that her cheeks are not pale in fright from his handling. She stares at him for a moment, and he dips his head, ready to return to his task when she asks, “Have I seen you before?”

It surprises him, that she’s asked. “Not if I have done my job well.”

She grins. “Of course, the…” She waves a hand at the rafters, and pink brightens the spots above her smile. “And you  _always_ do your job well, I bet.” He doesn’t have to say yes, she’s already nodding on his behalf. He lets her and stays quiet. “I don’t,” She confesses with a mischievous grimace, and out of courtesy he refrains from nodding on  _her_ behalf, “I mean to! I do! And I  _can_ but sometimes…” She trails off.

Kiyohiro thinks of slippery floors and close embraces, of fluttering sheets of laundry and trays of tea. “Sometimes circumstances are extenuating.”

“Yes.” Umeko looks relieved he understands. Which he doesn’t, exactly, but he has some sense of it. He bows, assuming their exchange is complete, and turns to leave when she seizes his hands. Hers are rough as his are, from a different sort of work than wielding swords and climbing buildings. “I HAVE seen you! You threw Lord Saizo’s crazy ninja down the well!”

He blinks owlishly at her. She is leaning in with delight, furtively glancing around, before whispering “At the castle of the Tak—” His hand is quick to cover her mouth in warning, well aware of how even whispers travel to the right, or wrong, ears. It is not so bad for him to have been there, but she is  _not_ —and he is certain of this now, for reasons he worrisomely cannot root in logic—a ninja, and would be called a spy and quartered. To his surprise, he realizes he would regret such a thing coming to pass.

Perhaps he is getting used to seeing pink wherever his role takes him.

She mumbles into his hand, breath warm and undeterred, “On Lord Saizo’s birthday!” Since she will talk anyway, despite the  _look_ he levels at her to warn her to silence, he drops his hand. “I know it  _must_ have been you because I thought at the time how we have the same style!” At his faint expression of confusion, her hands part, one going to her own ponytail and one to his. He catches the scent of something floral as she runs her fingers through their strands and thinks she is a rather strange person. It isn’t a bad thing, he supposes. “That was very sweet of you, to fight him off so they could have time together.” Uncomfortable with her praise, his eyes drop to the side, and he almost misses her next words. “You ship them too, don’t you?”

His brows furrow. The Takeda are more inclined to cavalry than armadas, and he wonders suddenly if she  _is_ a spy and knows something he does not, “Ship… them?”

“Yes! Together! Lord Saizo and his little lady! Oh they were just so  _adorable_ , don’t you think?” She’s  _sparkling_ again, Kiyohiro thinks, and it reminds him of sunlight. He tries to remember that he’s always been fonder of the rain, and wondesr what Lord Saizo would make of being deemed  _adorable_. “Just like Lord Ieyasu and his sweetheart.” There, again.  _Sweetheart_  and Lord Ieyasu are hard to put together in the same sentence, but Kiyohiro cannot deny a soft spot for the capricious man. Though he  _can_  lie, as doing so is often critical to his survival, he prefers not to if it is unnecessary, and so once again he says nothing and once again Umeko does not seem to mind. “Oh it won’t be long now with them, it just won’t! I wonder if perhaps there is some way to speed it along.”

“Speed what along?” Kiyohiro murmurs, unaware he has asked out loud. Umeko looks at him like he is silly, and that seems very unfair to him. He is not the one  _sparkling_. 

“Their  _relationship_  of course. Their love story!” He puts it together then,  _ship_ and  _shipping_  with  _relationship,_ and considers again that she is a bit strange, but Umeko is still talking. “Isn’t love beautiful?” Her eyes have gone starry, the question ending in a sigh. The honest answer, that he wouldn’t really know, rises in his throat, but her gentle, roughened hands are clasped once more in dreamy appreciation, misty in her smile, and he says nothing. “They just need a bit more of  _nudge.”_ The misty dreaminess abruptly skews towards something more purposeful, and a warning bell chime in his mind, “I  _wonder_ …”

“He is your employer.” Kiyohiro murmurs, asking at last what he has longed to know. How can she so flippantly insert herself into his affairs? It is reckless, and so against what he has been taught and how he is that he cannot help that it sounds like an admonishment.

“Of course. Don’t you want him to be happy?” He did, but that fell into the category of not relevant to doing his job well, so he didn’t  _act_ on it. “And I’m  _sure_ he’s marginally more pleasant to work for when he is.” He frowns at her, because that is even  _less_ relevant, but she flaps a dismissive hand. “Oh don’t give me that scary face! You aren’t half as scary as Milord Ieyasu is.” Kiyohiro isn’t certain if he should be amused or insulted. He settles for neutral—it’s never bad to be underestimated. “Oooh you have a sword, don’t you?” She’s only just now seen? Kiyohiro worries for her sense of self-preservation. “Perhaps you could kidnap her, or prete—”

“No.” The gentleness of his speech does not make the statement any less iron-clad. That is a line he will not cross, however appreciative he is of this determined woman’s fearless efforts in pursuit of… ships. He believes he’s gotten that right.

She puffs her cheeks out in a pout, but moves on quickly enough, tapping her chin in thought. “Well, I suppose I could ask the fellow in the market who’s sweet on me to do it…”

He feels a flash of unexpected irritation, and tells himself it is because he does not wish for harm or fear to come to anyone, and does not appreciate her disregard of the risk. It is uncharacteristic of him to interfere. He should leave her to her machinations, return to the shadows, and be unsurprised when she is dismissed for her efforts. It’s something he knows, but he closes his eyes, and then opens them, and wonders what he is doing. “May I present you an alternative?”

She giggles. “You’re so formal.” So he’s been told, but that’s his nature. She tilts her head in a way that sends her silken bangs into her eyes, considering him. Without realizing, he brushes her bangs aside, and only realizes what he’s done when her cheeks turn pink. He yanks his hands back, and she stumbles in her words, “An alternative?”

He apologizes silently to Ieyasu’s page, but it is better than her staging violence. Surely. Or, not that he wishes to admit it, going to someone else. “The young lord, Ii Toramatsu would… appear to hold affections for the same lady.” He offers this with great reluctance. It’s not as though he has been asked to keep the secret, not as though it bears relevance to anyone except a matchmaking maid in pink. Still, it is enough enough unlike him to freely offer information when his business is secrets to be sold that his brow furrows once more in concern with himself.

Umeko squeals, “ _Really?_ ” Already regretting speaking, Kiyohiro remains still. “Oh that’s  _wonderful_! _”_

(Kiyohiro does not see how but it seems unwise to offer that up.)

She doesn’t seem to notice, and continues, “We can certainly use that.”

“ _We?_ ” Kiyohiro blinks, but her arm is tangled around his, freely and willingly, and the soft pink fabric looks bright against navy armor and red rope. She squeezes cheerfully and drags him down the hallway to some unknown purpose. He could escape, but he doesn’t.

“Well sure! We’re partners now! The Side Ponytail Relationship Success Support Squad!”

Kiyohiro frowns.

Umeko pouts. “Alright, maybe that’s a bit much of a mouthful. We can be—” She pauses in surprise, “I don’t know your name.”

To his surprise, he wants to tell her. Wants to give her the truth. He doesn’t like to lie, unless it is necessary, but it is in this case. So he lies, and tells himself there is no reason to regret it, as she’ll never know. “Kiyohiro.”

She beams, “Kiyohiro! It’s nice to meet you.”

He has to smile at that, thinking of shadows. He murmurs gently, “I’m uncertain you would find any to agree with you.”

She sniffs, “Well poo on them.” His eyebrows raise, but she ignores it,  _as usual_  he is beginning to suspect, “I’m Umeko.”

He doesn’t tell her he knows already.

Manners dictate the response, for all that it is also true. “It is nice to meet you, Miss Umeko.”

“Of course it is,” The confidence is tempered with a tinkling laugh that tells him she is aware how silly she is being. Conspiratorially, she tugs on the elbow she’s captured, and he obliges, lowering his ear closer to her height. “Next? I think we should hook up Lord Tadakatsu. He’s such a sweetheart, he just needs the right partner, you know? And we can find them! Or perhaps poor Lord Toramatsu. Yes, yes I think he will need to be next, the poor dear, since his lady love is desperately smitten with someone else. Even if they are both  _stubborn_ and won’t admit it yet, silly dears. But we can help! They’ll find love with our help! I’m sure of it!”

He is less so, and uncertain that he should spend his time on such pursuits when he has work for Lord Ieyasu and the village to see to, but she’s smiling, and it is bright as sunshine.

He smiles back.


End file.
